


Brave New World

by Mianmaru



Series: World Going Down [2]
Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, LOVECRAFT H. P. - Works, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, F/M, Lovecraftian, M/M, Multi, Post-Apocalypse, Tentacles, all the gay sex tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-04-02 13:54:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4062460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mianmaru/pseuds/Mianmaru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Great Old Ones have returned but they are not the only danger living in the ruins of London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Here Comes The Rain Again

Beneath them London fell to pieces. The helicopter wound it's way through pillars of smoke and ashes. Through the dust, John could see the dome of St.Pauls as it rapidly sank deeper into the ground. He felt as if the earth itself had come to life and was about to swallow up the entirety of human existence. Mrs. Hudson's voice was a constant murmur, accompanying the downfall of civilization like rain falling during a thunderstorm. Sherlock said nothing during the flight. Just like Mycroft, he watched silently as they overflew the river and, just like his brother, he didn't comment on the monstrous disturbance that moved against the waters drift. John felt numb to his core. Now and then he exchanged glances with Greg, both of them needing confirmation that this was actually happening. That they weren't drugged with nerve gas or trapped in a horrible boundless nightmare. 

 

3 months later

 

_The tea was fabulous. Amazing even. John didn't tend to use superstitions but there was no other way to describe the deliciousness this hot cuppa held. The tiny splash of lemon was what made it into perfection. He felt the warm liquid as it spread new energy into his limbs and the depth of his being. "Wonderful..." He sighed contently._

John was rudely awoken by noises that reminded him of bombshells and burned flesh. For a few minutes the world around him wouldn't stop shaking. He could feel Sherlock behind him holding him in a tight grip. For his own or John's sake he didn't know.

* * *

 

 

Slowly, gradually, John lost the ability to tell night and day apart. He felt claustrophobic in the purest sense of the word. He'd spent hours imagining the solid steel separating him and the others from the creatures that had taken over his formerly safe reality only to turn it into a crawling, scratching defacement of life.

Often, he ended up sweating and breathing hard with dots dancing in his vision. Just as he would notice the signs of panic, he could already feel Sherlock's hand on his chest and hear his deep voice murmuring the physical symptoms he had displayed. Sometime speaking, sometimes just thinking. It was Sherlock's way of reassuring him and, as far as John was concerned, it was the right way.

Since Mycroft had picked them up, they had undergone drastic changes in their behaviour with huge amounts of sleep being the one they all had in common.

At times, John was very worried about Mrs. Hudson. Her talkative and cheerful personality had suffered from the drastic developments of the last months and had turned into a rare and always welcome occurrence. Most of her days, she spend brooding in the huge kitchen section. Between all the stainless steel, her crooked body seemed alien and out of place. It hadn't taken them long to get used to her ear-less head but her melancholic state still prove to be hard to handle. Especially for Sherlock.

John often caught him staring at her with a miserable expression. Aside of that and the bigger amount of sleep, Sherlock appeared to be unfazed by each and any change he and his life had undergone. John knew better though. They probably all did. But if Sherlock used his every-day behaviour as a comforting haven, John was the last to care. It was only a matter of time until the Detective would snap. Locked away as they were. That he had managed to reduce his break-outs to a minimum was no short of a miracle to John and he tried to make it up to him on every possible occasions.

Mycroft and Greg kept to themselves since they first had a long intense and very secluded conversation about dreams and the like. John was happy for them. They had actually won something out of their situation. Just like him and Sherlock, John supposed. When Mycroft left his quarter, he often appeared lost in thought. John had no doubt that the Politician still tried to find a way to rebuild some kind of civilization. Or maybe he only recounted weapons of mass destruction that were kept somewhere beneath their feet. If so, John didn't want to know.

Amidst the endless corridors of the bunker, John was unbelievably grateful for Greg's presence. Even though he didn't see him all that much, when they actually met, they always had a nice and honest exchange. They probably used each other as a psychological rubbish bin but none of them did mind. In contrary. Sometimes they ran into each other in a corridor and it was clear that they were searching for each other. The topics of their conversations weren't always deep or serious but enthralling all the same. John had watched Greg gradually adjusting to their new life. Obviously, there had been a period of two months where Mycroft and Greg relished the newly found togetherness and used it to "relieve some stress" as Greg had noted in one embarrassing conversation a few days ago. John still tried to shake of the images that one information made form in the back of his mind.

But now three months were over and in a few hours the automatic lock would allow them to visit the surface after 92 days of white noise through the radio set and endless days of boredom and sleep.

 

 

"Oh my God! Could you please stop this, Sherlock?" John demanded loudly.

For the last four hours the Consulting Detective had been walking back and forth between the automatic door and the common room. The countdown on the ridiculously vast display had just hit the 12 minute mark and John's own excitement could barely be contained.

"John. Haven't I been an admirable example for self-control in the last months? Have I not been companionable and cheerful even though this whole situation should have made me the first one to actually get killed?" Sherlock asked confidently.

 _Um, no?_ John's response came fast and certain even though he couldn't hide a fond smile.

"You were merely acting like a human being. OK... yes, you have a point. I know it wasn't easy for you but I would be thankful if you could just keep that up for another 11 minutes and 24 seconds." He pulled out the chair besides him from under the table and looked at Sherlock expectantly.

"How can you expect me to sit down when the real world is so close to allowing us in again?" John was amazed at the phrasing of that sentence. Had it been like that? While John had felt imprisoned all the time, Sherlock felt barred from the real world?

 _Well then stand still, at least!_ John demanded half heartedly before he returned to his diary and Sherlock resumed his show of impatience by rapidly tapping his foot on the linoleum. When the timer hit the one minute mark, Mycroft's and Greg's steps were echoing in the halway.

"Everybody please stick to the plan." Greg said with a pointed look at Sherlock. "John and I will be the first ones to exit and enter everywhere we go. Sherlock, you will be our rear guard. We depend on you so please do not lose track."

The Consulting Detective rolled his eyes but nodded in affirmation.

"Mycroft is going to stay here with Mrs. Hudson but we will keep contact through the walkies and if we need help he will send it." Help meant the pilot that had brought them here and the technician that had been doing maintenance work in the bunker when all went to hell. Both of which John knew nothing about and had never talked to aside of some uttered words of reassurance when he saw the wedding bands around their fingers on the second day. He doubted that they would be of any assistance in case of an emergency. Their personal tragedy had taken over their lives and had drained them of every ounce of energy until only hollow shells remained.

"I suggest we don't risk too much then." Sherlock muttered while turning to the clicking door. In his leather jacket and rough jeans he managed to be somewhat of a distraction to John who was relieved to know that Sherlock would be somewhere behind him and therefore out of sight while he had to be concentrated.

Fortunately, when the door opened they all stumbled backwards. Nobody had expected the door to open of it's own accord. But because of that none of them had to be dug out from underneath the pile of rocks that immediately came tumbling in. When John saw the rays of light through the dust he narrowed his eyes.

"How deep are we Mycroft?" He asked in disbelief.

"We...were about 300 meters beneath ground level." He answered, squinting past the debris.

"At least that makes things a bit easier." Greg stated pragmatically and made to free the exit from stones and dirt. The others joined him without hesitation, the prospect of daylight making them fast to react.

 

The first thing John was able to make out in the foreign sunlight was the small plane that lay a few meters away from the entrance. At first, he thought it had been squashed between the masses of stones when the earth around them had opened up to set free whatever had the power to just push up from the earth's core. But at second glance he realized that there was no possible explanation for the regular dents in the plane's mantle. None he was willing to imagine anyway, but his brain was only too happy to supply the picture of an enormous claw that yanked the flying object from the sky and crushed it like a paper dart.

John signalled Greg to come forward who in turn gave the signal to Sherlock. They stood a couple of meters away from their makeshift home, scanning the tall ruins around them. The sky above them was cloudy and grey.

"It'll probably start raining soon. Better get going." John pointed at a steep and sandy ascending slope ahead of them.

The climb was exhausting and midway it began to drizzle what made every step even more difficult than the loose earth beneath their feet alone. Greg fought to catch his breath when he suddenly ran into Sherlock. He had been the first one to reach the top edge of the crater they had found themselves in and had stopped in his tracks as if he had forgotten about the others behind him. "So much for stick to the plan." John muttered, pushing past them.

_Oh._

"What the bleeding...?!"

Greg had managed to follow John up the last few steps and stood gaping beside him. John was actually able to feel Sherlock's inner defeat at the sight of vast nothingness. The ruins formerly known as London lay ahead of them. Grey and shapeless, the remains of Islington weren't recognisable anymore. As if somebody had taken discoveries like electricity and basic architecture and deleted them from existence, their surroundings were so unfamiliar and somehow disturbing that he felt the air stuck in his lungs. Comfortingly, he took Sherlock's hand in his and stroke his thumb over the soft surface of his lover's skin. Seeing the wetness gathering in Greg's eyes, John was at a loss for words.

"Well, what do you think? Where should we go?" He asked with fake casualty.

 _Everywhere._ Sherlock's energy returned with full force.

"I don't think it matters." Greg said, trying to get a grip on his shocked state.

"OK. I'd say we go to the houses closest to us. Tomorrow we can go out earlier but today we should keep it short and safe." Sherlock nodded at him and pulled his hand away.

_You go first._

"Agreed." Greg stated, ruffling his hair while he took a deliberate breath.

House was too big of a word for where they were headed. John could clearly see the sky through the first floor windows of the halfway intact facade. The ground level was pitch black from the outside. He raised his hand to signal a stop and knelt down.

"Change of plans." He whispered when Sherlock and Greg had reached his position. "Sherlock will be in the middle. Greg, you will look out for hand signs of him. I don't want to make too much noise as long as we don't know what's in there."

Greg nodded, already used to them having completely mute conversations every now and then, he knew how their communication would work from that point onwards.

 _Wait for my signal._ John got up and ran to the dark doorway, coming to kneel again just beside the entrance, his back to the wall. Cautiously he peered into the darkness but he still wasn't able to make out any distinctive shapes. The rain was stronger now what made his attempts to listen for movement inside futile.

_Careful._

Sherlock moved quickly to his right side before Greg started to cross the distance in a zigzag pattern and came to a halt at the other side of the entrance. They had no choice but to take a look if they didn't want their short visit to be a complete waste of time. With a decisive nod John pushed himself up the wall before he pulled the gun from the back of his jeans and took a careful step into the doorway.


	2. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first contact makes them realise how the world has changed.

John's steps seemed unusually loud on the dirty wooden floor. He felt oddly elated. He knew he probably shouldn't but Sherlock had taught him long ago that he didn't have to feel guilty for his strong taste for danger. He still wasn't able to see further than a meter or two and tried to be as quiet as possible. The rain covered most of the sounds what made it all the harder to be sure that there was nobody or nothing hiding in the darkness around him.

_Torch._

The artificial light, Sherlock let immediately illuminate John's surroundings, barely cut through the dust hanging heavily in the air.

John felt the hair in his neck raising before he saw the movement in the corner of his eye and spun around pointing his gun towards a crowded corner underneath the stairway.

_Contact!_

Within a second, Greg was behind him pointing the torch where John was looking. His fast breath was giving away that he hadn't expected to be send in by Sherlock.

_Outside still clear._

Already taking a step forward, John raised his hand in a signal to move. He trusted Greg to have his back if what they found would turn out to be dangerous. What ever it was, it was small and fast. The niche under the stairs couldn't hold anything bigger than a dog but even a hungry dog could become a problem in the destroyed world it was now inhabiting.

With a short nod, John and Greg agreed to circle the creature's hideaway.

“If you understand what I am saying come out. We don't mean any harm unless you attack us.” The only answer Greg got was prolonged silence. Questioningly, he looked at John who only shrugged in response.

The torch's cone of light was interrupted by the dusty chairs which were stapled underneath the stairway but John could clearly identify a somewhat wet looking scaly surface behind them. No dog then...

Carefully, he tried to push the chairs away with his right foot. The resulting screech appeared deafening but the thing in the corner seemed unfazed. John wasn't even sure it was still alive.

He looked around for something to nudge it with and found a coat hanger which was entirely too short for his liking but would have to do. Greg's dubious expression didn't make the situation any better.

As he bent forward, John held his breath.

The first thing he felt was pure disgust at the unfamiliar consistence of the thing's surface. His repulsion grew when he realised that there wasn't even a real consistence at all. He stared at the coat hanger as it slowly sank into the green scales. Blinking repeatedly didn't change what he was seeing. Worried to be suddenly pulled forward, John decided to draw back instead of just watching the hanger vanish but when he did there was nothing left of what had somewhat been melting into the creature. Beside him, he heard Greg swallow loudly as the both watched small clouds of smoke rising from the sharp end in the coat hangers former middle.

“Acid?” Greg whispered enquiringly. The iron hook had been cut off at the same angle it had touched the thing's skin.

“Maybe.” John stated awkwardly. Nothing around the strange creature was corrupted in any way and it wasn't about to melt through the floor either.

_Come in._

Sherlock appeared at his side silent as a cat. John held the hanger into the torch light to make him understand what had happened without having to explain it. The Consulting Detective picked up a small piece of china that lay close to his feet and threw it unceremoniously against the creature. It bounced off with a wooden sound and rolled around before it disappeared into a gap between the floor boards.

A shudder ran down John's back. Instantly he decided he'd seen enough. With another movement of his hand he signalled to go outside.

  


They had reached a safe distance when John stopped and looked at Sherlock.

“So, what do you think?”

“A natural defence mechanism, most likely.” Sherlock stated confidently. “I would have preferred to see it's whole body but I expect that it has no claws or other characteristics of a hunter. Herbivore or its complement in his food chain.” John looked at Greg who was watching the ruin nervously. “If we could only make it come out of it's corner so I could inspect it more closely...” Sherlock wondered absently.

“Oh no, you won't.” John said. “It might not be aggressive but I will not let you go there and risk your life before we have a general idea what else is in these ruins. This is a not a scientific expedition, it is a reconnaissance mission.”

“Yes, Captain Watson, Sir.” Sherlock answered, his smug voice implying that he'd already decided that they were on different missions, then.

John watched the darkening sky while he attempted to dampen his annoyance.

“OK, guys. That's enough for now. I don't know about you but I don't want to find out what else is hiding in the dark without being prepared for it. Fuck, I don't even know if what we saw was human once. And if it was...” Greg's voice trailed off uncertainly.

If John was honest with himself he had to admit that his imagination wasn't strong enough to even create a superficial idea of what was sharing the earth's surface with them now. And come to think of it... Hadn't they been the ones taking refugee in the earth these last 3 months?

Sherlock watched his companions before he pulled out his walkie and pressed the TALK- button.

“Mycroft, we are coming back. Put the kettle on.” He said knowing that his brother would detest his relaxed voice and display of domesticity in this strained situation. The way John smiled at him in amusement and relief was even better.

Greg sighed and started to walk back to the bunker, his tension palpable. John put his hand on Sherlock's arm to stop him from following.

“We should make a list of things we take with us tomorrow. And I want to go outside in a few hours. We need the night vision gear, two guns and silencer.” Sherlock beamed at him in glee.

“I want to know what we are getting ourselves into when we enter the ruins. Don't look like that! We are not doing this for fun.” John's own excitement and Sherlock's intrigued face made it hard for him not to grin so he ran to catch up with Greg, Sherlock on his heels.

  


Mycroft and Greg had been trying to talk them out of it but with John's argumentation being reasonable and the promise that they wouldn't go further than the crater's edge, they finally agreed.

John hadn't had the heart to tell Mrs. Hudson about their findings in the ruins so he kept the descriptions superficial and emotionless when he sat with her in the kitchen section an hour later.

“Do you really need to go out again tonight?” She asked in worry. “If there is nothing to be seen why would you need to see it at night?” Her sceptical expression reminded him of Sherlock's deduction face.

“Just to make sure. “ He answered weakly.

“John Watson, do you think I am already demented? I know, I didn't seem to be very resilient but it is very offending that you don't think me strong enough to endure the truth.” Her expression was offended indeed.

John moved restlessly in his chair searching for the right thing to say but it appeared there was none. He didn't want to sound dramatical or even resigned but that was exactly how he felt.

It was still two hours until Sherlock and him had planned to go out and there really weren't enough ways to flee this conversation.

“I wish I could have seen for myself.” That was where it struck him.

“OK, I have an idea. Are you sure you want to see it?” John asked her, implying that it could get experimental. And the fact that she thought about that for a minute or two reminded John of the many reason he was so fond of his former landlady.

“Yes, I am.” She nodded decisively.

Without a word, John got up and headed for his quarters.

  


Mrs. Hudson's expressions changed minutely. Her initial shock at seeing what was left of London had been obvious by the tears gathering in her eyes. It made John's guts clench in a way he had rarely encountered. Occasionally he looked at Sherlock, who was sitting opposite her at the small dining table with a face of utter concentration. John didn't know if it was energy-sapping for Sherlock or if he just tried to make her see every detail. Or maybe he was filtering his own impressions to spare her some pain even though John thought that to be unlikely.

When Sherlock was done he leant back in his chair seemingly trying to focus on the here and now by blinking rapidly.

“I think that's enough.” He said to John, resolutely.

“Mrs. Hudson?” The woman let her head hang down and rubbed the tears from her eyes. “Is it...Are you alright?” John wouldn't have known what to do if it she wasn't.

“I will be. Just give me a few minutes.” Her voice indicated differently but John was grateful for the answer.

 _What about some tea?_ Sherlock nodded in the general direction of the kettle.

John felt the urge to refuse the order but he was glad to have something to occupy him. As he walked over to the counter and glanced back he saw Sherlock taking one of Mrs. Hudson's hands in a compassionate gesture.

  


“Tea!” John announced overly cheerful. “Mrs. Hudson.” He put the cuppa in front of her in a big gesture. Sherlock sat beside her by now and nodded at him when he was handed his mug.

“I think its about time you started calling me Martha. I haven't been your landlady for a while now, John.” She smiled at him unobtrusively.

“Yeah, right. OK, Martha.” He emphasized uncertainly. Sherlock rolled his eyes but smiled at him nonetheless.

They sat with her for another hour. Even though John felt bad for her, he also noticed that the three of them hadn't had a long chat in ages and it soon became comfortable and even funny at times. The underlying sadness she had displayed was still there but John was sure that even with London looking like that, they all were relieved that there still was an outside world existing. Three months in a bunker had made each of them tense and depressed in different ways. And the cup of tea didn't hurt either. They were British after all.

  


When it was time to get ready for their nocturnal excursion, Sherlock made sure that John was watching him as he pulled on his leather jacket. In turn the soldier made a show of checking his gun in-depth before they left their quarters. Both of them basked in the anticipation of excitement and possible danger. John had long accepted that he didn't handle boredom much better than Sherlock did. He was just less dramatic about it.

“Shall I keep the jacket on when we get back?” Sherlock asked teasingly while they walked down the long hallway to the automatic door that would lead them outside.

John grinned to himself while deliberately walking a bit slower and checking out Sherlock's rear view in a most obvious way before he asked “I don't know. Why would you?”.

  


A minute later, they reached the door where Mycroft was already waiting for them with a serious expression on his face. Sherlock purposefully placed a hand on John's behind at the last two steps just to enjoy the small twitch in his brothers face.

“You two look way too happy for what you are about to do. I probably shouldn't allow this.”

“As if you could stop us without your minions.” Sherlock drawled while pushing his brother aside. John made an apologetic expression but pushed past Mycroft immediately when Sherlock opened the door.

_One of these days, your brother will be trying to kill you._

They stood outside and waited for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. John was idly listening for the sounds of animals or steps in the dark.

_He is going to fail and he knows it._

John put on the night vision and nudged Sherlock to make him do the same. Everything around him slowly turned brighter and more pronounced. He could see the sand piles and rocks around them with surprising clarity. The last time he had worn this kind of equipment had been long ago and even then John remembered being amazed by the effect it had had.

He looked around but didn't see any movement or shape that made the impression of being alive. Sherlock pointed at the edge of the crater to their right. There was an indirect light throwing shadows over the edge. John couldn't estimate the distance between them and it's source but apparently he wouldn't have to.

Huffing, he hurried after Sherlock who was already a few meters ahead of him.

 


	3. Deep Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sex and horror, beware

 

For a second or two, John felt thrown back in time as they stood at the craters edge. The light they were following had more and more similarities with the gas lanterns he'd seen in old pictures. The ruins and lack of artificial light just served to strengthen the impression. Sherlock had already taken off his night vision and made to cross the 10 meters separating them from the light's source when John saw something move between the piles of gravel to their left. Silently, he grabbed Sherlock's arm and pulled him down into a kneeling position.

John watched two men cautiously nearing the illuminated area. They took turns taking the lead by stopping behind everything that could possibly shield them on the way. Both appeared to have evolved differently. The bulky back of one an odd counterpoint to the other's locust-like limbs. John felt a finger brush the back of his hand.

_Cold water. Deep and dark. In the distance a green glow. Curiously swimming closer. Teeth! Huge greyish teeth!_

Shaken, John threw his head around and looked at the men's target. The picture Sherlock had sent him affected his heart-rate in a not entirely unpleasant way. John realised what was happening the second he saw that Sherlock had his night vision back on.

To the human eye, the lantern-like object was glowing a bright yellow. Through his night-vision though, John saw that it was not only the round object glowing but as well the structure it was attached to. The long pole seemed to be too smooth, too animate. Sherlock took a deep breath when the locust-man reached the brightest spot right beneath the entity.

Nothing Happened. The man jumped up holding on to the pole for balance while he tried and failed to grab the lantern. John cringed watching his attempts to remove his hand from the alien surface. His friend arrived, pulling on his arm while taking care not to touch the thing himself.

John rushed forward and retrieved his gun knowing that Sherlock was right behind him. He wanted to avoid any of them finding out what the trap held for it's victims.

 

They had crossed two thirds of the distance when the earth started to quiver beneath their feet. At first, John thought he might have lost his footing on the rough stones and kept on running. He barely managed to let himself fall backwards when he saw the earth below the two men give way. Sherlock kicked him painfully in the kidneys having been to close to stop before he ran into him.

John rolled to the right, stopping Sherlock's legs from pressing uncomfortably into his back while he saw the men vanish into the gaping hole. The light of the lantern-thing was withdrawing fast into the darkness when he cautiously crawled forward to the descend.

A loud scream prompted him to hurry. Sherlock reached the edge simultaneously to join him as he stared into the darkness. Even with the night-vision on, John couldn't see anything. They listened intensely but it still took them a few seconds to realize that there was a third accelerated respiration somewhere beneath them and that it was quickly coming closer.

 

Eavesdropping, Sherlock and John looked at each other. A small smile was playing around the edges of the Consulting Detective's mouth, his excitement as apparent as it was inappropriate.

John just considered stealing a kiss when a hand shot up between their faces and he shrank back. Before he had even made a conscious decision he helped Sherlock, who was holding tight onto four digits, by grabbing the wrist. They used their body weight and all of their strength to crawl backwards but it took them over minute to pull the man over the edge. Something was still holding onto his leg and kept pulling hard.

John had grabbed the man's shoulders. He knew he was leaving bruises but he was sure that the man wouldn't mind. He felt the sudden give before he heard the loud crack of bones.

Still, the man made no sound and even though they didn't know why, John and Sherlock remained silent as well.

_John!_

_I know. 1.....2......3!_

With a huge amount of effort, they pulled hard. John felt whatever it was slip from the man's leg and for an instant he thought they had pulled strong enough to throw the man over their heads because he felt the shoulders he'd held on to glide upwards. Letting his arms fall to the ground he turned onto his back and watched an imposing pair of wings flap higher and higher. With his mouth open, John blinked a few times to clear his eyes from the fresh sweat that lay heavy on his lashes.

_Wow._

That certainly explained the bulky back but what John hadn't seen from their earlier distance were the man's claws. One was now dangling loosely from side to side in an obviously painful angle.

The man's face was a testament to the agony he was experiencing but he still watched Sherlock carefully as he got up from the ground and held a hand out for John.

The trembling lips formed only one word without making any sound.

Safe?

Sherlock nodded up at him before he pointed into the general direction of the bunker.

Cautious, the mutant flew close to the ground while keeping a deliberate distance.

_What do you think?_

Sherlock made a thoughtful face and John wondered if he'd ever stop this old habit of obvious thinking. He was fairly sure that Sherlock had already deduced what was to know about their new companion. But maybe, he was just feeling comfortable back in his terrain after the long time of abstinence.

Consciously, he brushed his hand against Sherlock's to convey his admiration and just a little bit of desire.

_Man on the run. His constant looking about and the careful distance are most definitely a result of prolonged living in a dangerous area. He's not from London judging by his trousers and the, by now grown out, ten pound haircut. Uncertain, though. No wedding ring, no obvious signs of grief for the man who just died._

John thought about that when the man turned mid-flight and questioningly pointed into the crater. Nodding, he wondered if they'd ever make it further than 50 meters without encountering a more or less dangerous monster. They needed a better equipment. And an army would be good as well.

 

 

Greg had been waiting anxiously for the couples return. The minute he heard the automatic lock he jumped up from his seat and ran to the entrance only to find a complete stranger limping through the door. He made to pull his gun, baffled that Mycroft opened the door for an incalculable thread, but he didn't carry it in the bunker and the second after he'd realized he already saw Sherlock coming in with John behind him guarding their back.

“Who the hell is this?” He asked agitated, tension making his back rigid and his hands clench.

“Sean. My name is Sean.” The man pressed out. Only now, Greg noticed the claws at the man's feed. The left clearly broken and almost torn off but he was more worried about the unharmed one and if he wasn't imagining things then what was partly visible above his shoulders were wings. Bleeding huge dark brown wings. One look at Mycroft's unusually obvious amazement told him that he wasn't imagining anything.

John passed them by, walking towards the quarters purposefully.

“How long have you been out there?” Sherlock asked enquiringly while completely ignoring the agonising pain the man was in.

Greg watched Mycroft struggle with the idea of propping Sean up to support his fragile stand but obviously wasn't able to make himself go through the motions. Greg wasn't keen on touching the strange mutant, either.

“I...what? I don't know. What day is it?” Sherlock rolled his eyes at the man but his heart wasn't in it. Greg supposed even the Genius was able to imagine losing the sense of time out there.

“Have you been out there since you became ...that.” Sherlock gestured in an all encompassing way at the man's body. “Or have you spent time somewhere safe?”

A red puddle was forming beneath the strangers left claw while the color was draining rapidly from his face. Just when Greg readied himself to catch him the moment he'd faint, he heard the wheels of a stretcher echoing up the hallway.

“Safe?” The man grimaced fiercely. “ I haven't been...” He tried to finish when his eyes rolled upwards and his body collapsed as if every single muscle suddenly refused to cooperate.

Greg had grabbed Sean's right elbow but without Sherlock holding the man by the shoulder's he would have had a hard time supporting the mutants heavy body. John hit him painfully pushing into the small gap to help them place the body on the stretcher. “Oh no! Oh....No!” Mrs. Hudson shrieked behind them. 

“Martha, go to the ward and prepare a room.” John said urgently while binding the leg underneath the knee with a rubber cord.

“I...I don't know what that means. John...” Mrs. Hudson was at a complete loss looking around for help.

 

Without a word, Sherlock walked off to the hospital ward.

 

 

It took John two hours to patch up what was left of Sean's clawed left foot. With luck there would be nothing more than a limp reminding the mutant of that days attack. It was also possible that John would have to take the leg off in a day or two but he hoped that the changed genetics would aid the man's healing process.

Without Sherlock's help, the doctor wouldn't have had the confidence to perform a surgery after his long time of abstinence but his partner calmly listed the steps and needed supplies even though they both knew that it wasn't necessary at all.

Now John felt drained and giddy at the same time. He felt more sure of himself and his abilities not to say his own value for their little group than he'd had in the last months.

Greg and Mrs. Hudson had agreed to take turns checking on the state of the bunkers newest inhabitant after John had told them what to look for and to call him immediately when he woke up. During the last ten minutes of the surgery when John was putting the final stitches Sherlock had given Mycroft a complete account of their trip to the surface and even though none of them said so, it was clear that they were all worried about the possible threads waiting outside.

 

 

“I can't wait to be in bed.” John drawled in exhaustion. The hallway seemed to be much longer than a few hours ago.

Sherlock merely nodded beside him but was watching the doctor's face attentively.

As soon as John stepped through the door of their quarter, he felt Sherlock grab his arm and turn him around before he was forcefully pulled against the taller man.

_You were good. Very, very good. I could have watched for another two hours. So calm, so controlled. Amazing._

Sherlock was gently biting his way up John's neck, his hands roaming over the doctor's waist. John smelled leather and sweat as he leant his forehead against his lovers shoulder. With his eyes closed, he inhaled deeply and basked in the feeling of Sherlock's nimble fingers as they found their way beneath his jumper and pressed into the soft fleshy area just above his hip bones. Sherlock's breath was loud in his ear when he felt goose bumps spreading all over his neck and chest,

“Hmmmm, John.... How tired are you?” His voice was deep and teasing. John knew it was completely on purpose, especially considering that Sherlock didn't need to talk aloud but it only served to make him grin and shiver at the same time.

_Completely knackered, I'm afraid._

Sighing heavily, he pushed Sherlock away and dragged himself towards the bed where he fell backwards in the most dramatic way he could muster.

Unimpressed, Sherlock took two long steps and came to stand in front of the bed.

_Oh, really?_

Without further ado, he shed his jacket and knelt down to free John first of one then of the second combat boot. The doctor still had his feet on the floor but now Sherlock had somehow managed to position himself between his legs. In an attempt at looking coy he watched John through his lashes while he let is hands wander up the soldier's thighs.

With rapt attention he noticed the small hitch in John's breath as he reached his zipper and slowly opened it. Pulling down trousers and pants, Sherlock licked his lips suggestively.

 _Bit unfair isn't it?_ John nodded at Sherlock's shirt before he sat up and pulled off his jumper. He felt the cool airflow of the ventilation system on his bare skin as he bent forward to get rid of his socks.

Deliberately, Sherlock got up and began to undress without breaking eye contact for even a second. His controlled efficient movements were harshly interrupted as John let his left hand glide through the coarse blonde hair on his stomach and drew nearer to his hardening cock.

Sherlock felt the tentacles being pulled from beneath his skin, pressing through the little slits on either side of his spine. It made him groan in anticipation while he kicked off his shoes and socks to the other end of the room.

Hurriedly, he pushed his army trousers down and stepped out of them when he felt the tentacles slipping into his pants and slowly tugging them down his legs. Languorously, they wound around his waist and inner thighs, restlessly wandering over his pale skin.

After being able to analyse these additional limbs over the course of three months Sherlock shivered now as felt the one tentacle that seemed to come right out of his spine slowly extracting itself. From his experience it had only one purpose.

John smirked knowingly before he gestured for Sherlock to join him on the bed. The big mattress could easily accommodate the two of them. Meant as the royal suite, the whole quarter was large and overly comfortable but in the face of apocalypse Mycroft had chosen to safe his brother and his chosen little family over king and country. The former soldier found he didn't mind one bit, especially right now where he was thoroughly enjoying the benefits of being alive and in love.

Sherlock came to kneel over John, his legs on either side of John's thighs. The doctor entertained the idea of pulling him down and pressing their cocks together, to align them in a tight grip and feel their silky drag before coming wetly between them.

But he knew what Sherlock wanted and this want flooded him through their shared bond in a way that soon made him forget whose need was more urgent. He steered the spine tentacle outwards and made sure that it dragged excruciatingly slow down between Sherlock's cheeks and over his entrance. It was slick. It always was right after leaving his lover's back.

John sank his hand into the dark curls pulling Sherlock into a tender but promising kiss. At the same time he let his other hand wander down to the Detective's tail-bone feeling the glide of a slippery limp over the back of his hand. Above him, Sherlock shivered when he felt the first intrusion of the smooth tentacle breaching his body.

_John. Wonderful._

Sherlock stared into his eyes so intensely that it made all other means of communication unnecessary. Thoughts and words and the rest of the world became a mere afterthought whenever they were together like this.

Pressing up and against Sherlock's hard arousal, John felt his cock resting heavily against his pubic bone.

“Oh...” A sigh was all the answer he got as the tentacle pressed into Sherlock. Deliberately, he made it establish a rhythm that drove it deeper into his lover at every thrust.

The meandering limbs on Sherlock's back were extracting fully now, moving into different directions to press against walls, ceiling and the concrete floor. Carefully, John took hold of Sherlock's wrists bringing them together in one hand before he held them above his head. Not for the first time he felt amazement at the sight of the incomprehensibly long tentacles.

With almost all of his weight supported, Sherlock let his knees slide apart opening himself wider and dragging his testicles over John's hard arousal. The almost tickling sensation on his tetchy flesh made the hair on John's body stand on end and the need for more unbearable.

_God, Sherlock. Now?_

Even though he didn't mean to, John's need made the spine-tentacle slip deeper than before.

“Fff.... Yes!” The accompanying groan would have been answer enough but John needed to hear Sherlock to actually say it.

_Good.......Good!_

Breathing out, Sherlock kept himself completely still while the slippery limb drew back and left his body. He expected to feel John pressing insistently against his entrance any second but the soldier had other ideas. With a gasp he noticed the unfamiliar sensation of heat and tightness and John. It took him a moment to recognise that this perception somewhat crawled up his back. An odd but entirely pleasant feeling, he realised.

_Sherlock, wow that's....good._

John had his eyes closed. The hand holding Sherlock's wrist clenched and unclenched in sync with the rhythm the soldier made the tentacle breach this entrance..

_Do you think you could..._

Sherlock immediately understood. Sitting up, he pulled one hand from John's loose grip and positioned the doctor's cock against his already relaxed opening. Biting his lower lip he sank down trying to handle the abundant sensory influx.

It was too much. At least for John. As soon as Sherlock was completely resting on is thighs he made the tentacle stop. He let the limb rest inside him, though, the slight stretch being welcome nonetheless.

One hand on John's chest, Sherlock began to move. Slowly at first, he soon found a comfortable and languid pace.

The movement around his sensitive length made John blissfully aware of the trust that existed so natural between them by now. If it was during one of their adventures or in an intimate situation like this, there was no doubt about the deep connection they shared. How far they'd come.

Pulling Sherlock by his arm, John drew the man in a tight embrace while beginning to rock up into the tight heat.

He kissed up the tall man's throat, trying very hard not to lose himself to the pleasure that was beginning to build in the depth of his being.

He dragged his nails over Sherlock's side leaving scratch marks that stood out harshly against the milky skin.

_Sherlock, are you...?_

 

“Sherlock?” He asked through gritted teeth, pressing his fingers into the pale skin at Sherlock's hips.

“Stop talking!” Sherlock's voice didn't carry the demanding note he clearly wanted it to. He pressed hard down against John, rounding his back to guide John's cock where he wanted it. John's movements turned more hurried and grew in force. His eyes now watching the tentacles as they began to quiver.

John took his left hand away and, seeing bruises form on Sherlock's skin, let his fingers slide around a pale waist to take hold of his lovers lean arousal.

“I love you.” He whispered into the dark curls above him as he formed a tunnel with his fist for Sherlock to push into. Just slightly, he created a counter-rhythm with his wrist. Exactly as he knew Sherlock wanted it.

John felt the muscles around his cock tightening, the pace Sherlock was setting beginning to falter and turn erratic.

_Sentiment._

With a fond smile, John bit into the other man's shoulder and tightened his left hand's grip. The cheeks of Sherlock's arse were contracting, tensing and relaxing faster and faster while he pumped his hips. John felt desire ripple through his guts.

He lost it. Dots were forming behind his eyes as his body spun out of control. Distantly, he heard rumbling moans and felt Sherlock's weight on his taught upper body as it was bowing under the force of orgasm.

 

 

In his haze, John barely managed to roll to his side and press against the sleepy consulting detective. He felt one arm coming to rest around his waist

_I love you too._

“Shut up and sleep.” He muttered hiding his smile against Sherlock's chest.

 


	4. Humanity

_ I was far from home, and the spell of the eastern sea was upon me. _

**_H.P. Lovecraft_ **

**_"The Festival"_ **

  
  
  


John noticed with contentment that Mrs. Hudson appeared to be much more at ease in her new role as the strangers nurse. For several hours, she looked after her patient, fussing with his pillows and blankets, feeling his forehead for his temperature and paying attention for general signs of discomfort.

 

It took 2 days for the bunker’s new inhabitant, to recover enough for a thorough interview. While his wound had healed surprisingly well, the sleep required to feed energy into the quick process had been long and deep. 

 

Mycroft had insisted that Greg questioned the man while everybody else sat back watching and drawing own conclusions that would be exchanged right after.

Sherlock didn’t like the idea at all, bargaining and complaining until he was collectively allowed to deploy his own methods.

  
  


The barely lit kitchen was a good a place as any to interrogate the stranger on his past. Over the gleaming surface of a steel table, Greg just looked at him for a long time before he had made up his mind about the fitting strategy for the middle-aged man. Waiting more or less patiently, John and both Holmes brothers sat at the small counter facing Sean when Mrs. Hudson joined them quietly. After watching over the man during most of his slumber she had barely slept four hours herself when her patient had awoken. Even though John had told her that it wasn’t necessary to attend, she had insisted they count her in.

 

“Alright. We already know your name but that’s it. Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?” The former DI appeared to be completely at ease and John supposed that using old strategies gave Greg a sense of control where there ultimately was none.

 

“Sean, yeah, um… O’Bannon. I’m from Bristol, well, Portishead. Born and raised. 53 years and never managed to leave until I had to. Three months ago. Suppose you guessed that.” Every now and then, Sean let his gaze wander over the small audience facing him.

“Worked in a library. Um…. Aquarius. Former chain-smoker...” Sherlock coughed in the most fake way possible to stop the man’s babbling and prompt Greg to ask the more interesting questions.

 

“What happened three months ago, Mr. O’Bannon?”

 

“If you mean in Portishead…” Greg nodded patiently. “ Then you should first know that it’s a coastal town.”

 

_ Oh, really?  _

 

_ Shut it, Sherlock. _

 

“When...When this all started, even before all these people died or fell ill, there were already rumors spreading among the few fishermen. Strange animals moving just underneath the surface of the sea. Men vanishing or going insane because of these things. Of course, nobody had a proof and the loudest storytellers were known drunkards so they were ignored by most. And by me.”

 

“Until something happened to you.” Greg states confidently and receives a nod of agreement.

“Two days before all hell broke loose, I was sitting at the beach. Book and beer. It was my private after work ritual. Well, I sat there thinking about.. I don’t know. Work probably. When I saw, what I thought was a plant. I didn’t recognize it, though. I’ve always been interested in plants so I took a closer look. It hadn’t yet reached the shore when I stepped into the water and bend down to touch it. But it… It touched me first. I don’t know how else to describe it. I bend down and it rushed forward touching my toes. It was disgusting. I’ve never felt anything so… foreign. I scrambled backwards and it stuck to my skin for a few seconds before it descended back into the sea.” Sean seemed to shake the memory off before continuing.

“Next day, I felt sick and exhausted. My brother took care of me as long as he could until he came down with a flu. What appeared like the flu. I got better after the changes and… dreams happened. It was so painful, I was unconscious most of the time. When I eventually felt better, I found my brother dead in the living room, his head having turned into a… a… giant carcinoma.” Tears, that he was not willing to acknowledge, ran down his face. 

 

John felt the wave of sympathy before Sherlock was able to suppress it. John would never have called him out on it. He thought of his sister instead while Mrs. Hudson sniffled silently beside him.

 

“And then they came. Out of the ocean. The earth. But the ones from the sea, they were huge, rolling like tanks over… over everything. Even the bigger medieval houses broke like sticks as they moved landwards. I can’t even tell you what they looked like. It was just incomprehensible. I fled with others and we tried to talk about what we’ve seen. There were no words. We only agreed partly. As if everyone of us had seen something different. I can’t even name the color of these… monsters.”

 

“Where are the others now? The ones that fled with you?” Greg inquired interested but Sean only shook his head.

 

“Some died in Bristol, others in Bath. We tried to avoid the bigger cities after but it made no difference. I was the only one who made it to London.”

 

“You weren’t alone out there.” The former DI stated.

 

“In London, I met a group of people. Neither good nor friendly if you know what I mean. He’s dead and there is nobody who will grieve him. Certainly, not me.”

 

With raised eyebrows, Greg turned around to see if anybody had additions to make.

 

“May I?” Sherlock asked without explaining what he actually planned to do, taking  a seat beside Sean.

“What?” At first, the traumatized man flinched back when the younger Holmes almost touched his hand but stopped short of it.

 

Apart from John, none of the others had a chance to understand what was happening before it was already over. Through their connection, the soldier received emotions that were too uninhibited and chaotic to be stemming from his lover’s beautiful organised mind.

 

With a small smile and an outstretched hand, Sherlock turned to him.

_ Come here. _

 

John took his hand, knowing what to expect but still suddenly completely overwhelmed by the images flooding his mind. It was true, the Great Old Ones coming from the ocean were indescribable even for Sherlock’s intellect, their depictions blurry and interrupted. 

 

_ Parts of a small coastal town sink into the sea as screeching sounds fill his ears and the Thames becomes a constant companion. Frightening and calming at the same time. A face. Again and again. Restless sleep, his body drenched in cold sweat. Armed men laughing manically as blood seeps into the ground. Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn. London. She’s in London. _

 

A gasp tore from his lips as Sherlock broke their contact.

 

“Wow.” He whispered, feeling shaky.

  
  


“Well?” Greg asked incredulous. “Is he trustworthy?” John and Sherlock looked at each other before turning towards the counter. Mycroft was about to open his mouth and make a, no doubt completely pretentious remark when Mrs. Hudson spoke up.

 

“Yes. Yes, he is.” She smiled shily at Sean who looked up at her through his lashes. It was an exchange so innocent, it planted a small seed of hope within the carefully guarded hearts of the onlookers.

  
  



	5. The Human Race

 

_“The world is indeed comic, but the joke is on mankind.”_

_―_ [ **_H.P. Lovecraft_ ** ](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9494.H_P_Lovecraft)

  


“SHERLOCK? WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THAT?” John yelled, at the top of his voice. The high-pitched sound filling his head was deafening and bordering on painful. It made his eyes water as he rolled out of bed and dressed hurriedly, Sherlock following his example.

 

John stumbled into the hallway holding his ears to no avail. Passing him by, his lover had already given up on defensive gestures, having accepted that the sound was coming through his mind as much as through his ears.

 

The closer they got to the metal door separating them from the gruesome outside world, the louder and more insistent the apparent screaming became. Behind them, Greg and Mycroft entered their part of the corridors, closely followed by Martha and Sean.

 

Apparently, his former landlady had the least problem with this mornings painful interruption. Seemingly undisturbed herself, she fussed over Sean as he followed the noise to it’s source.

 

The sound managed to draw even the two _ghosts_ into the open, as John privately called them. The technician and the pilot still spent their time hidden away, avoiding especially the Holmes brothers. John suspected that they’d decided to blame Mycroft for not being with their families when everything fell apart.

 

As sudden as the nuisance had started, it stopped. Relieved, the bunkers inhabitants recovered, wiping the wetness from their faces and breathing deliberately slow.

 

Keeping their distance, the ghosts silently waited for somebody else to act.

 

“Brother, would you be so kind to take a look?” Mycroft asked with a fake smile. Sherlock’s annoyance at still being expected to do the legwork for his pompous git of a brother was obvious.

 

Handing John his gun, he slowly turned the rotary control on the metal door while focussing on creating a working illusion. Keeping the gap as narrow as possible, Sherlock cautiously pulled the door inwards while John peered out through the widening opening.

 

The ground in front of the bunkers entry was a shade of brownish red, it’s repulsive smell leaving no doubts about the nature of the liquid seeping into the earth. A few meters away, John saw six men watching the door. One even looking right at his face but obviously successfully blinded by the illusion while another, probably their leader, held a grey sharp object in his hands that was dripping with a purple liquid. At his feet lay a lump of mutated flesh.

 

With a nod and a touch of his hand, John signalled for Sherlock to close the door. Greg helped turning the rotary control to ‘Close’ before he listened to the description of their surroundings.

 

“Six men with various weapons. I think they’ve been torturing a creature to make it scream. They are closely watching the door AND the earth in front of it is completely drenched in blood.”

 

John let the information sink in before he added “We are under attack.”.

  
  


Nibbling on one or the other snack, they were sitting in the kitchen trying to come up with a strategy. Occupying two tables, their separation still in place and still not mentioned, the army soldier cleared his throat.

 

“I could easily take them out while Sherlock is blinding them but I think we all know what the real problem is.” John stated evenly. A wave of affection reached him through Sherlock’s hand on his as the other men nodded.

 

“I don’t understand. What _is_ the real problem?” Martha asked, taken aback by John’s apparent cold bloodedness.

 

“The blood. It is not a dramatical threat, it’s a bait.” Sherlock explained. “We know there are probably monstrous creatures in the ground and from what I gathered from Sean’s memories, they are attracted to decay. I don’t know what will come up after smelling the blood but I’m sure something will.”

 

Sean nodded, clutching Mrs. Hudson’s hand.

 

“But if something’s coming up through the ground, chances are the bunker’d get destroyed. They wouldn’t have a use for it if it was, right?” Greg’s voice was incredulous as he looked at Mycroft.

 

Their newest companion spared him a sympathetic glance. “They don’t want it. They know they can’t get in. They just don’t want anybody else to have it either if they don’t.” Sean said, sounding guilty.

 

“Oh, it’s not your fault.” Martha assured as she fondly leaned against him. They hadn’t talked about it but everyone in the bunker had drawn his own conclusions about the correlation between the presence of strangers in their ‘front yard’ and the new addition to the group.

 

Even when he arrived in his dirty clothes, debris in his beard and red hair standing on end, Sean wouldn’t have fit into this band of scavengers, John thought.

With his sympathetic face and wakeful eyes, the former librarian couldn’t have been very dear to them.

 

It was pretty obvious now, that the night they had taken Sean in, he had been on a suicide mission meant to test or even get rid of the weak ones.

 

Wordlessly, John got up and crossed the room. Pulling out four backpacks from a locker in the corner, he

 

_OGTHROD AI'F_

_GEB'L-EE'H_

_YOG-SOTHOTH_

_'NGAH'NG AI'Y_

_ZHRO_

 

“John!” Sherlock was standing by his side. “Are you alright?”

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He said, turning towards the counter to pack food and supplies. Everybody was staring at him with faces conveying a mixture of worry and concern.

 

“What?” He asked, looking down at himself, expecting to find signs of mutation. Carefully, he touched his face scanning for changes but found none.

 

Sherlock’s agitation was palpable as he motioned for Greg to go on packing for John.

 

“Dear, you just stopped moving and yelled some gibberish.” Martha told him, sounding upset now.

 

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Hudson. John’s fine.” Sherlock told her, contradicting his own behaviour.

 

“Right.” John awkwardly agreed. He felt as if something was pressing against his skull from the inside as he squeezed Sherlock’s hand for reassurance.

 

Deliberately confident, he walked over to the cabinet checking for useful survival equipment.

 

 _Do you remember anything happening, at all?_ Sherlock watched him like a hawk as he sat back down across his brother.

 

_Nothing._

 

\--------

 

“I don’t like this plan, Sherlock.” Martha stated for the umpteeth time, hovering cautiously behind him.

 

“I am not very fond of it either but we don't have a choice.” The heavy backpack was unfamiliar and made him feel slow and rigid.

 

Beside him, Greg and John were adjusting the straps on their own gear before readying their guns. They were forming the advance party, while Sherlock and Sean were meant to be in the back, Mycroft and Martha being in between them.

 

Despite John’s protest and colorful descriptions of what probably was to come, the ghosts had decided to stay and were standing aside waiting to close the door behind them, as soon as they were gone.

 

Again, John felt exhilarated rather than anxious as he signalled for Sean to open the door. Sherlock groped his butt in a completely indecent way, not even trying to hide his excitement as he began to focus on creating a detailed illusion.

The first rays of natural light fell through the slowly opening door.

 

_See you on the other side, John._

 

_Love you, too!_

 


	6. This Is Not Dead Which Can Eternal Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You did it again. You spoke this language from before.

 

_There are horrors beyond life's edge that we do not suspect, and once in a while man's evil prying calls them just within our range._

 

H.P. Lovecraft,

The Thing on the Doorstep

  


Squinting against the broad daylight, Sherlock took the lead as soon as he sensed that there were no minds outside to be manipulated. Wherever the scavengers had gone, they were out of his range. Far enough for him and the others to be safe, assuming that the assailants didn’t have any sniper rifles in their possession.

 

Not the safest of guesses but John and Greg had agreed that there was no other possibility than to take the risk.

No one was willing to travel at night.

 

Mrs. Hudson had needed some help climbing out of the crater that was their former front yard but she was doing pretty well, especially with the intense support Sean was willingly providing. With watchful eyes, Mycroft scanned their surroundings, his first trip to the surface apparently having made an impression.

 

John was pretty sure that the older Holmes took detailed notes of the damage and already considered the cleanup effort it would take to return to the status quo. He envied his optimism.

 

After less than five minutes of walking down the desolated streets of London, the earth shook beneath their feet as a loud uproar from behind threatened to deafen them. Turning around in horror, they watched an almost black cloud of brickwork, dust and earth explode from the ground.

Too opaque to the few observers, it’s middle hid uncountable tendrils of brownish color, whirling and winding restlessly. The cloud spreading it’s shadow wide over the ground before dissolving and spilling it’s contents over the perished city.

 

When a familiar dining table crashed into the street a few meters away, Sherlock turned around and resumed walking.

 

Silently, the others followed.

 

\---------

 

Judging from the sun, it was around midday when they reached St. Paul’s and Sherlock decided this to be a perfect location to get some rest and a better impression of their surroundings.

With it’s glass facade, the Grange was a better choice than most other buildings. The things, the mutants, apparently avoided direct sunlight. According to Sean, he’d never seen somebody being attacked outside during the day.

 

Aside of the Holmes brothers, none of their small group would have been able to afford a night at the Grange back in the days of hotel reservations and festive events. Now, the cathedral that had given the spacious hotel it’s suffix was barely more than a ruin. It’s walls sunken deep into the ground, the dome only recognizable to those who knew where to look for it.

  
  


John was still amused about the massive grin that was returning to Sherlock’s face every few minutes since Mycroft had managed to trip and fall onto the chapped cobblestone, landing flat on his face. Greg had helped him up, trying very hard not to join into Sherlock’s laughter as even Martha’s face lit up mischievously.

 

He had been holding it together. Mostly.

  


“S’pose we’re not gonna find another view like that.” Sean said, looking around at the corrupted buildings and ruptured streets.

 

Mycroft’s disgruntled look of approval and Martha’s worried expression did nothing to slow Sherlock down as he entered the reception area through a broken glass door.

 

_Sherlock, stop! Let me._

John insisted before hurrying past his lover, gun in hand.

 

Carefully, he stepped over the remains of a designer chair and motioned for Sherlock to follow in close proximity. He didn’t need to look back to know that Greg was right behind them having their back while they stepped further into the half-dark.

 

Johnn would have loved to be able to use the tempting looking elevator, in the cone of daylight ahead but he couldn’t imagine finding a way to get it running. The stairs it was then.

 

Scanning the big contorted hall for the door to the stairwell

  


_OGTHROD AI'F_

_GEB'L-EE'H_

_YOG-SOTHOTH_

_'NGAH'NG AI'Y_

_ZHRO_

_JOHN!_

 

_What? Did anything move?_ He whirled around, ready to shoot whatever threat.

 

_You did it again. You spoke this language from before. Same words. Same intonation. And more importantly, loud._

 

“Oi!” Greg whispered, interrupting their soundless conversation. The three of them were standing in the dark area between entrance and atrium, their backs turned towards each other to keep monitoring their surroundings.

 

“Can we, maybe, talk later. Apparently, you scared everything away with your bloody outburst but I’d rather not linger.” The few things that had been hidden in the shadows of broken furniture and columns had been fast to move away. The sudden activity scaring Greg more than the realisation that they had been present the whole time. Eventually, the same almost gliding motions that had carried them away in the blink of an eye might bring them back, too.

“Right.” John acknowledged, starting to move as Greg signalled for the others to follow inside.

 

The six of them cautiously made their way towards a door in the back, stepping over broken bottles and glas in the bar area while trying to stay close to the light from the transom.

 

John felt his heart hammer against his ribcage as he forcefully pushed the door to the stairwell open and immediately made space for Sherlock to follow. The tall man’s handgun was held on eye level as they assessed the situation. Greg and Sean were trying to cover all other directions, standing protective behind Mycroft and Martha with their own guns drawn.

 

_What do you think?_ John inquired uselessly.

 

_Same thing you think, I suppose. There are windows, which is a plus but there is also a downstairs which is rather unfortunate._

 

_Sean or Greg?_ John wasn’t sure how much to trust Sean in a situation his life might depend on but he knew Sherlock would already have had one or two thoughts on his ability to keep panic at bay.

 

_Both._

John nodded in affirmation before he moved his hand in a forward gesture to tell the others to follow.

Pointing at Greg and Sean, he signalled for them to guard the door and the stairs leading downwards.

 

Eyeing the dark well hole, Sherlock began to ascend.

  
  


\----------

  


They had made good progress even though trying to be as silent as possible was taking its toll when it came to the speed of their climbing. Halfway between the 3rd and 4th floor, John just contemplated the fine round behind of his clever boyfriend as he was rudely pushed to the side.

 

“What…!” he began to yell when his gun was pulled from his grip and he saw Sherlock kneel down in front of him, leaning heavily against the wall and aiming high.

 

Shots rang out in the spacious stairwell before the tall man managed to pull the trigger on his gun. Taken by surprise, John turned around to see Mycroft slowly lowering the army browning as he watched a creature vanish downwards into the well hole.

 

For a few seconds, nobody said anything while they collectively tried to understand what they’d just spotted.

Unsettling was not so much that the thing was flying in spite of not having wings or anything similar but that it’s color made John feel dizzy and his thoughts tangle in on themselves. Green-ish orange ranks with purple-ish yellow joints had hung loosely from the fat round and squirming body. It’s surface seemingly in endless motion, appearing as if every last part of the repulsive object was at war with it’s peers.

 

There was no questioning it’s toxicity even without having made the, no doubt deadly, experience.

 

Swallowing hard and still unable to stop staring into the now deserted well hole, John whispered reverently “Mycroft…. Fuck. Thank you!”.

 

Apparently equally dumbfounded, the older Holmes just nodded as he gripped the gun tighter in his right hand.

 

Quietly, Sean began to laugh, digging his fingers hard into his thighs. His own weapon forgotten on the ground beside him.

\-----------

  


“He’s seen far more than any of us.” Sherlock declared, seemingly unfazed by Sean’s ongoing hysteria. “He remained sane until now. He’ll calm down again.”

 

John was pretty sure he was right but the way the words were said was clearly meant to soothe Martha who was fighting back tears as she tried to make the maniacally laughing man drink a few sips of water.

 

The so-called [ Skybar ](https://www.grangehotels.com/hotels-london/grange-st-pauls/gallery/) was a posh affair or had been before everything turned to Dimension X _reloaded,_ that overlooked a big part of London down to the river _._ The black rattan furniture was still there but dirty and wet to its core where it stood on the terasse. The railing was deformed but complete in contrast to its glass filling which was mostly cracked or entirely missing. The part of the bar that was roofed looked almost untouched, though and they decided to settle for the night.

  


Since the incident on the stairs, Greg wore an almost predatory expression of intense focus every time his gaze wandered towards Mycroft. It made John grin stupidly as he realized what it meant so without further explanation he gave the two men most of the tablecloths he had found behind the bar and helped them build a makeshift tent in the furthest corner of the room.

 

Having brought everything necessary with them, Sherlock and John prepared a simple lunch. Dried egg, pulverised cream and chicken straight from the tin were good enough for most of them. Apart from one extremely disgusted member of the Holmes family that let everyone know that food frozen for 20 years was still better than food dried for one day.

 

Behind the counter, Martha was still caring for Sean who was true to Sherlock’s prognosis, much calmer already but still somewhat shaky. With a soft voice she made him eat most of his share after hastily downing her own portion.

 

_Guess we are sleeping outside._ John thought, pointedly glancing at Greg’s hands on Mycroft’s hips as both men hurried smiling to their cosy self-made cave.

 

_….._

 

_Are you making gagging sounds in your head?_

 

\----------

  
  



	7. And With Strange Aeons Even Death May Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'I didn’t think things could get worse.' John thought, resting his hand on Sherlock’s on the railing.

_ “In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming. _ ” 

 

―  **H.P. Lovecraft** ,  **The Call of Cthulhu**

  
  
  


 

As night fell, flickering lights appeared in the distance, where Sherlock was barely able to make out Southbank and the river’s reflecting surface.

  
  


Taking out the night vision goggles, John joined him at the railing. From their high lookout point they saw around 40 people with torches gathering at the shore of the Thames. The majority of the assembled people seemed to be naked. It was hard to tell with the limited magnification factor of the night vision but if they wore anything at all, John was not able to spot it.

 

Too far away to make out the words, yells and seemingly meaningless outbursts reached the skybar when one person was stepping out of the crowd and began to speak to the others. The woman immediately had the full attention as she gesticulated widely and paced in long strides alongside the outer line of the parishioners. 

 

_ Not good, John.  _ Sherlock conveyed a big variety of emotions through their bond but the strongest one was worry. Directly followed by guilty excitement. It made a shudder run down John’s back and his skin break out in goosebumps as he received an image of opening graves and a distorted claw-like hand stretching upwards out of the earth.

 

The potential priestess began to draw a rectangular shape into the sand and dust, calling out unintelligible words every time she reached a point of intersection and then placed a round object in the middle of her simple creation.

 

Several people stepped out of the group and placed small objects in the vessel while she apparently started to grind it all together using a baseball bat as a plunger.

 

Yells of ecstasy set in again, accompanying her focussed work.

 

_ I didn’t think things could get worse.  _ John thought, resting his hand on Sherlock’s on the railing.

 

_ Now, they definitely will. _

 

\--------

 

It was a long and exhausting ritual for everyone involved. While Sherlock and John kept on watching, the gathered crowd started to sway back and forth, left and right. The priestess began to sing and her flock answered. It was a perfect example for group hysteria within cults, John realised rather resigned.

 

_ ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn _

Sherlock thought simultaneously to the next chant.

 

_ Ia! Ia! Cthulhu fhtagn _

He added as the crowd answered.

 

That name was all too familiar to John. He clearly remembered the impressive description in Howard Phillips personal notes.

 

‘A monster of vaguely anthropoid outline, but with an octopus-like head whose face is a mass of feelers, a scaly, rubbery-looking body, prodigious claws on hind and fore feet, and long, narrow wings behind.’

 

_ Cthulhu R'lyeh fhtagn  _

_ Cthulhu R'lyeh fhtagn _

_ Cthulhu R'lyeh fhtagn _

_ Cthulhu R'lyeh fhtagn _

 

_ Well, I think you know where this is going.  _ Sherlock remarked with fascination.

 

_ Do you think they’ll be successful?  _ John refused to imagine what would happen if they managed to awaken Cthulhu. But apparently, his imagination was not needed.

 

_ I think they already are. Look at the water.  _

 

With dread, John watched as the level of the river rose before big waves began to roll in from the east. 

 

\--------

 

A second time that day, the earth began to shake. The Thames had grown broader, flooding the small piers and most of the already destroyed buildings alongside it’s former limits. Every new wave coming in from the sea was met by hysterical laughter and manic exclamations of  _ vulgtlagln Cthulhu _ (‘Pray to Cthulhu.’ according to Sherlock.).

 

It could barely have been midnight and the others hadn’t slept more than four hours as rhythmic shocks made the ground quiver so hard that John sprang into action and packed everything back in, getting ready to leave even though they would have to travel in the dark.

 

“Fuck.” The impressed sound of Sherlock’s deep voice paired with the strong vocabulary made him look up.

 

There was a strangely glowing mist spreading at the horizon and even though it was dark apart from the spooky luminescence, John sensed more than saw the blurry outline of something huge approaching. Fast. Too fast for it’s height to be estimated yet, an almost human shaped creature came closer and closer. Tendrils restless, every earth-shaking step revealed more of the awakened Elder God. The thing was not human at all, even though it shared a few traits in appearance like legs and arms. The head. The head was more of a cephalopod but the wings... John felt his eyes begin to sting a second before Sherlock turned away from the sight, breathing like a man might after finishing a marathon. 

 

_ Dragon. Octopus. Monster. The God of Monsters. God. God. God.  _

 

John was swaying. He couldn’t stop himself, whispering: “ vulgtlagln Cthulhu vulgtlagln Cthulhu vulgtlagln Cthulhu vulgtlagln Cthulhu vulgtlagln Cthulhu vulgtlagln Cthulhu vulgtlagln Cthulhu vulgtlagln Cthulhu vulgtlagln Cthulhu vulgtlagln Cthulhu vulgtlagln Cthulhu vulgtlagln Cthulhu vulgtlagln Cthulhu vulgtlagln Cthulhu vulgtlagln Cthulhu vulgtlagln Cthulhu vulgtlagln Cthulhu vulgtla…”

 

“JOHN!” Someone was shaking him hard but he still couldn’t stop.

 

“ vulgtlagln Cthulhu vulgtlagln Cthulhu vulgtlagln Cthul…” Suddenly, there was nothing. Only blackness and a stranger’s voice in his head.

 

_ John. John, focus on my words. You know who I am and you know who you are. Don’t lose yourself. Not to this. Not ever. Do you understand?  _

 

He could only shake his head. 

No. No he vulgtlaglnCthulhuvulgtlaglnCthulhuvulgtlaglnCthulhuvulgtlaglnCthulhuvulgtlaglnCthulhuvulgtlagln

 

_ You are John Watson. Army soldier. Blogger. My conductor of light.  _

The stranger’s voice turned desperate and pleading. 

_ Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Oh God! Don’t John! Don’t do this to me. _

 

He was engulfed in a tight, almost painful hug. A strong and fast heartbeat was drumming in an unsteady rhythm against his temple.

 

_ I love you, John. I love you.  _

Warm drops of water fell onto his head. He felt his knees give out and his body slip from the embrace as he whispered “Sentiment.”.

 

\----------

  
  


“Martha! Bring him back in!” Sherlock ordered when he saw that Sean made to step out on the terasse, his mouth agape. Immediately, she pulled him back and convinced him to stay behind the counter until they’d call him. John’s mind was barely able to handle what he’d seen and he wasn’t even remotely as labile as Sean.

 

“Don’t look at him!” He yelled at Mycroft and Greg as they walked closer to the railing, eyes wide. His brother turned away after a second but Greg seemed to be frozen in place.

 

“Stop him!” Sherlock told his brother as he leant down over John’s unconscious form. Wild screeches came from the Thames. Perhaps the flock was not immune to the insanity-inducing sight of the Elder God, either. Risking a glance at the merging crowd, Sherlock witnessed what could only be described as an orgy even though sex was just one of the acts committed within the writhing mass of bodies. There was far more violence so that an increasing amount of blood covering naked flesh dyed the whole of the group a dirty shade of red. Even though Sherlock was too far away to determine it, he was certain that most of the blood had been spilled as people had torn their eyes out in a ferocious attempt to  _ unsee _ .

 

Mycroft covered Greg’s eyes pulling him violently backwards and off his feet as the paralyzed man began to murmur “ stell'bsna n'gha stell'bsna n'gha stell'bsna n'gha stell'bsna n'gha...”. 

 

“Pray for death.” Sherlock supplied, refusing to acknowledge the panicked look Mycroft directed at him. He had to take care of John now just like his brother had to take care of his own bondmate. There would hopefully be enough time later to share a moment of sympathy and humaneness.

  
  


Martha stared at her feet as she came over to help. Together, the three of them managed to drag Greg and John into the roofed area of the terrasse. Looking at the two unresponsive men lying on the floor and at a loss for once, Mycroft fixed Sherlock with a pleading look before he asked “Is there anything we can do?”. 

 

Resignation weighed heavily down on them when Sherlock shook his head in defeat, his hand clutching John’s.

 

Restlessly, Greg’s voice filled the silence as Cthulhu’s shadow grew, darkening London in it’s wake. 

“ stell'bsna n'gha stell'bsna n'gha stell'bsna n'gha stell'bsna n'gha stell'bsna n'gha stell'bsna n'gha stell'bsna n'gha stell'bsna n'gha stell'bsna n'gha stell'bsna n'gha stell'bsna n'gha stell'bsna n'gha stell'bsna n'gha...”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn - In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.
> 
> Ia! Ia! Cthulhu fhtagn - Yes! Yes! Cthulhu dreams.


	8. The Beyond One

 

“At night, when the objective world has slunk back into its cavern and left dreamers to their own, there come inspirations and capabilities impossible at any less magical and quiet hour.” 

―  **H.P. Lovecraft**   
  


 

 

 

Every 2.1 minutes, the earth shook under Cthulhu’s heavy footfall, marking the impending madness. It was all Sherlock had to go by to guess the disorientating height of the elder god. It was not important but for about twenty seconds it had managed to distract him from the situation at hand.

 

John had stopped whispering to himself the moment he’d lost consciousness but Greg’s voice had been filling the humid air around them for the past half hour. Lying on the floor, body limp and his breathing barely perceptible, John could have been easily mistaken for a corpse. Sherlock’s heart stung in his chest at the unwelcome notion.

 

With clear instructions to not give into his curiosity to  look , Martha called for Sean to sit beside her on a rattan sofa facing the others to relieve the pressure on his mended claw-like leg. For the first time since they’d left the bunker, his wings weren’t concealed by a heavy coat but spread behind him, one curled loosely around the older woman. The despair expressed on Sean’s face made Sherlock realise that the man probably never had had to conceal his emotions in order to fit in. Instead of envy he only felt contentment at the thought. It was a good life they’d lead. All of them. Maybe it wouldn’t be

 

_ Sherlock. Stop it right there. _

 

John’s eyes slowly blinked open as he took hold of Greg’s arm. The silver-haired man immediately fell silent.

 

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief mimicked by everyone else in the room. The darkness around him lost part of its weight when John’s eyes met his and a reassuring smile spread over the shorter man’s face. “Hi!”

Not possessing the ability of speech at that moment, Sherlock bent down to press a lingering kiss to John’s lips. 

As he sat back up, Greg began to stir. 

 

\-----------------

  
  


After the Holmes brothers had made absolutely certain that their partners were inherently unharmed (Greg’s “Stop snipping into my ears, Mycroft!” had ended the examination rather abruptly.), nobody needed to be told that there was no other choice than to leave their makeshift camp and head out into the night. Though, none of them felt particularly happy at the idea of exploring the nocturnal London.

  
  


Quietly, they crept down the stairs. With nothing but two night vision goggles to guide their way, Sherlock and Greg lead the others forward step by step. John felt insecure about the usefulness of the images he received from Sherlock. Even though the tall man was tailing their little group in close proximity, the soldier wished they would have put up with the additional weight of at least one more of the helpful devices. With his arm around Martha’s waist, he was hindering his own line of sight as provided by Sherlock’s eyes but at least he wasn’t as blind as the other three.

 

At each landing the group had to take a short break so that Sherlock and Greg could scan their surroundings for an immediate threat which was nearly impossible while descending with three of them blinded by the darkness.

Straining his ears and focussing on his partners feet on the stairs, the former detective was too tense to really appreciate the progress they were making as just another flight of stairs ahead of them, something moved in the corner of his eye. Whipping his head around, Sherlock suddenly blinded his bondmate.

 

“Wha…!” But John couldn’t finish the question as Martha’s weight pulled at his arm. Tumbling forwards, the soldier’s head collided with Mycroft’s shoulder but the elder Holmes was frozen in place by the strong grip of Greg’s hand around his. With Sean clinging to Martha’s shoulders and his fortunate reflexes, John managed to regain his balance and stop his former landlady from toppling over.

 

Before anybody could ask what’d happened a strong scent not unlike lavender permeated the air, growing stronger by the second. While Sherlock’s sole focus was on the thing on the stairs, he didn’t notice that the scent turned smell was clearly coming from above them. As it’s intensity grew, an almost electromagnetic buzzing manifested in their heads. The feathers of Sean’s wings began to bristle, adding their own quietly rustling noise.

 

“Shit!” Greg exclaimed in shock. Just a second later, everybody knew where the danger was coming from as the buzzing sensation turned into a painful pressure tightly squeezing the top of their heads.

With a shove to Sean’s back, Sherlock prompted them to move. In advance sending the image of whatever was resting on the stairs a flight deeper to John. 

 

“Oh f…Jump!” Greg ordered before leaping over four steps at once.

 

John dug his hands into the fabric of Mycroft’s coat, forcefully pulling him to a halt before he could walk right into the dark shape in the middle of the staircase. 

 

“How far?” Mycroft asked helplessly.

“As far as possible. I see you. I’m here.” With more trust than any of them would have believed him to possess, Mycroft bound down. 

 

“I can’t do this.” Martha whined in anguish, a sob audibly forming in the back of her throat. John softly took her hand in reassurance. 

 

“Let’s do it together.” Her answering grasp was desperately strong. “On three.” The soldier declared, hoping Greg would ignore him and catch Martha’s landing with all he had. 

  
  


“One….”

 

“Two…”

 

“Three…”

 

In every other situation, taking a jump while holding hands with his landlady would have been pretty awkward at best. But even though John was still receiving Sherlock’s sight, the contact to Martha was what made him feel secure as his feet left the ground.

 

A bit wobbly but otherwise unharmed both of them were caught in a bear hug from Greg.

 

Positioning the others on the side, John and the DI supported Sean’s easy landing. Just as Sherlock was mid-air the thing on the stairs suddenly slipped down towards them. It’s surface like mucous oil, the being moved only a meter but it was enough that Sherlock’s leg grazed it’s crooked upside. 

 

Frantically, John grabbed him as he dropped from his leap in pain. It took all of Sherlock’s willpower to suppress the cry of agony that wanted to tear it’s way out but he managed to stay quiet. 

Even as he felt the fabric of his jeans burn like acid into the delicate skin of his ankle.

  
  


Making it out of the staircase with a limping and mute Sherlock and a worried Greg as their guidance, they took a first aid break in a corner of the foyer that provided them with a good view. 

The light of the waxing moon was illuminating most parts of the spacey entrance hall, making it possible for the other four to stand guard while John tended to Sherlock’s painful wound. 

 

_ Almost down to the bone. Shit. _ John thought more to himself than anything else.

 

Supported by the wall behind him, Sherlock nodded anyway as John examined his ankle. That was definitely what it felt like, as well.

 

_ Ibuprofen and antibiotics.  _ With sure motions, he cleaned the tender area around the severe burn and began to apply the gauze.  _ I will have to check on it every hour to make sure it doesn’t get infected. Who knows what that thing was. Maybe it’s poisonous. Maybe _

 

_ Do you know you are doing that out loud?  _ Sherlock interrupted his musings.

 

John looked up at him in surprise but with soft amusement, whispering “You always complained about me thinking too loudly. At least now it’s true.”, before he pulled the meds and a bottle of water from his backpack and held it up for Sherlock to take. 

 

Mentally sighing, John got up from his crouching position at Sherlock’s feet.

_ I wish we didn’t have a who-knows-how-long walk ahead of us. _

 

_ Believe me, me too.  _

 

\-----------------

 

This was the worst idea in the existence of horrible mistakes. With two of them limping, even though Sean’s remaining handicap was barely perceivable, the group was dangerously slow in the pitch-black darkness.

 

Creeping silently along the walls of former office buildings and destroyed shop windows, they had to detour more than once to avoid strange looking creatures or their slimey fuming traces. 

 

John had had the thought before but was growing more certain that the number of  _ Things  _ they encountered increased as they made their way towards Baker Street. A direction they hadn’t chosen but were collectively heading, anyway. Everywhere around them, the floor was covered in slightly steaming goo that they tried to avoid as much as possible as they passed Regents Park Station. In his peripheral view, John saw countless heaps of… something...glide, creep and squirm parallel to their own route.

 

_ The worst company I ever found myself in _ . He thought resignedly.

 

_ Well, we needed Mycroft to survive. Now, though… _

John almost giggled but settled for an amused look back at Sherlock, who was steadied by Greg’s arm around his waist.

  
  
  


They had just left Marylbone Road and were crossing York Terrace when all hell broke loose. Their ever present company moved closer. Hesitantly at first but getting faster and faster with every passing second. Soon, they were encircled. Only a narrow path left to their right. 

 

Regent’s Park.

 

It seemed too obvious. Why did the creatures not cut off this way, as well? But there was no helping it. 

 

“Run!” Sherlock yelled and took off in spite of his injured ankle. With hobbling but certain motions, he had already crossed half of the distance when the others caught up with him. Sean’s face was scrunched up in agony but his steps didn’t falter as he pulled Martha with him. Running down the broad street leading them further into the park, Greg was first to cross the small bridge as the others followed.

 

If it had only been about speed and agility, they would have easily left the creatures behind. But the further they advanced into the greenery, the more they encountered of these repulsive beings.

  
  


“A trap! It’s a bloody trap!” Greg exclaimed furiously. John and Mycroft had stayed close behind Sherlock and nearly ran him over when the other three abruptly stopped in front of them.

 

They were standing at a small stone hut, where three paths met. One of which was crossed by a wooden bridge, barely discernible in the persistent darkness. The way they’d come was already covered in piles of moving and swaying flesh, glistening in the soft moonlight. 

 

“I think that’s it.” Sherlock stated dryly as he surveyed the incoming mass of monstrosities that was blocking every possible escape route.

  
  


Crowding themselves against the wooden door of the shack, there was nothing left to do. No way to fight or run. At the horizon, the monstrous shape of Cthulhu began to draw closer.

 

In one smooth motion, Sherlock turned around and pushed John hard backwards, pressing a kiss against his lips before he was forcefully knocked to the ground and carried away on the ever-growing bulk of creatures. Immediately, he began to scream in pain. His cries of anguish stopped only seconds later when he lost consciousness. 

Scrambling up the overgrown hut, John focussed completely on his lovers back, coercing the new limbs hidden beneath the skin into extending themselves, cocooning the lithe body. If anything was able to withstand the acidic goo..

  
  


Greg’s feet gradually ran out of space as he tried to avoid the mass of critters. With all the bravery he had left he turned his back at it and signalled “Up!” at Sean. Extending his own tentacles to form a cushion, he let himself be carried away.

 

At the top of the shack, John held his hand out for Martha, pulling her up to the relative safety as he watched Greg holding onto the wooden bridge a few meters down the path to his right.

 

Throwing his heavy coat to the ground, Sean pushed his arms around Mycroft’s waist and took off, his wings lifting them off the ground with only a few flaps.

 

John watched with devastation as Sherlock’s cocooned body was carried out of his sight around the corner in front of him while he cradled Martha’s panicked form in a protective hug.

 

Above him, Sean wailed before throwing Mycroft into one of the nearby trees and flying a desperate maneuver to get away from the levitating mutant that had crashed into him from behind.

 

_ Sherlock! Sherlock, can you hear me?  _

 

“ Oh no…” Martha’s voice broke as tears started rolling down her face. Sean was no longer able to avoid the growing number of floating attackers. With his wings burned in several places, he barely made it close to Mycroft, who caught him mid-fall with one arm, the other holding on to a thick branch..

 

“Fuck!” Greg screamed when his right hand was touched by a creature on the bridge and he had to hold on with his left only.

 

The moonlight faded as it was blocked by one of Cthulhu’s wings, making the green mist surrounding him the only source of light.

In terror, John covered Martha’s eyes and closed

  
  
  


_ OGTHROD AI'F _

_ GEB'L-EE'H _

_ YOG-SOTHOTH _

_ 'NGAH'NG AI'Y _

_ ZHRO _

Faces appeared in the steaming flesh of several creatures. Faces John would have recognized as belonging to a distinct group of scavengers. But John couldn’t see anything. Couldn’t even feel the growing coldness nor hear the sounds of cooking meat.

 

_ OGTHROD AI'F _

_ GEB'L-EE'H _

_ YOG-SOTHOTH _

_ 'NGAH'NG AI'Y _

_ ZHRO _

The earth shook violently. Mycroft held on for dear life as the tree began to sway, powerfully rocking the branch he was clinging to. His sweaty palm painfully squeezed in Sean’s grip, he closed his eyes and began to mutter along.

  
  


_ OGTHROD AI'F _

_ GEB'L-EE'H _

_ YOG-SOTHOTH _

_ 'NGAH'NG AI'Y _

_ ZHRO _

 

Martha’s body was rigid as she felt more than heard the words coming from John’s mouth. Swaying, she joined his chant.

  
  
  


_ OGTHROD AI'F _

_ GEB'L-EE'H _

_ YOG-SOTHOTH _

_ 'NGAH'NG AI'Y _

_ ZHRO _

Greg felt his eyes water and his airways burn but he couldn’t stop himself from watching the myriads of creatures bubbling, melting and screeching from countless distorted faces. He began to whisper as he pulled himself onto the wooden railing of the bridge.

  
  


_ OGTHROD AI'F _

_ GEB'L-EE'H _

_ YOG-SOTHOTH _

_ 'NGAH'NG AI'Y _

_ ZHRO _

Cthulhu's gigantic frame began to quiver. A tremendous scream tore from between the writhing tentacles as greenish skin began to liquify. Another heavy step towards Regent’s Park, left most of the flesh of a massive claw linger on opening ground. Bubbles were bursting, turning green into a festering yellow.

 

John’s vulnerable body was standing solidly on the unstable roof. His arms spread into the night sky, his eyes open wide but unseeing.

  
  


_ OGTHROD AI'F _

_ GEB'L-EE'H _

_ YOG-SOTHOTH _

_ 'NGAH'NG AI'Y _

_ ZHRO _

Sean felt his strength falter. With all his might, he forced his broken wings to flap weakly, attempting to relieve some of his weight off Mycroft’s grip. Waiting for the inevitable fall, he closed his eyes and focussed on John’s sonorous voice breaking through the overwhelming uproar.

 

.

_ OGTHROD AI'F!! _

_ GEB'L-EE'H _

_ YOG-SOTHOTH!! _

_ 'NGAH'NG AI'Y _

_ ZHRO!! _

 

The melting creatures covering labile ground began to seep into the earth beneath them. Distorted faces losing any similarity to the human race as they broke apart into millions of barely visible pieces.

 

Eyes popping simultaneously in a vulcan-like eruption, the looming titan’s flesh unraveled from softening bones. Big chunks of interdimensional matter began to drip from extended wings. Expanding and retracting without any rhythm, the pulsing mist around Cthulhu contracted one, two, three times before, with a massive burst, the body of the Elder God dissolved.

Vast blobs spread all over central London as rain set in for the first time in months.

\--------------------------------

John’s arms and legs hurt and were shaking from exhaustion. Looking around, he tried to orient himself. It was the beginning of dawn and a tiny sliver of sunlight was breaking through the clouds above him.

 

Checking Martha’s pulse, he made sure that his former landlady was just unconscious before he climbed down the hut with careful motions. Greg was hanging limp over the railing of the little bridge, his tentacles almost completely retracted, and after a few seconds of looking around, John found Sean and Mycroft lying on a trimmed hedge under the tree he had last seen them in.

 

He couldn’t remember what had happened and didn’t care either. He had to find Sherlock.

 

\-------------------------------------

Candlelight was illuminating the windows and bleeding through cracks in the brickwork of 221B Baker Street.

As London lay silently, what had been washed deep into the earth by a sudden rain shower three weeks ago, was now fundamental to growth. Neither orange nor green plants were pushing upwards between cobblestones and broken cement. Blossoms falling onto sickly glowing leaves, their fruits grew in just a few hours into crooked versions of vegetable life.

 

Still in hiding, members of the former human race scurried from one dark corner to the next as they reluctantly came to terms with their own survival. Where the ground once had been breached and fractured, only gnarled scars bore testimony to the brutal violation of our world. 

 

What was left to the world was a new beginning.

\-------------------------------

 

John was kneeling in front of the fireplace and poking around in the fresh embers with intent, even though the broken walls and windows were making it almost impossible to keep the room warm as winter was coming. 

 

Now, weeks after he’d found Sherlock’s body, still tightly wrapped in his own tentacles and completely immobile. Had pulled away one limb after the other with his knees pressing into the cold muddy ground and tears running down his face.

  
  
“Hey.” He was pulled out of the painful memory by a hand softly combing through his hair. Grateful, John pulled it down to tenderly kiss each long pale finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... This is it. As we all know, it took ages to finish. Not gonna lie...Porn is so much easier to write. 
> 
> Some of you might miss an explanation for what John and the others did in Regent's Park and I considered writing one but frankly: Our friends don't know either and I personally prefer some magic in my life. Not everything should be explained and analysed in depth, in my opinion.
> 
> But if you really need more than there is, I give you this much:
> 
> The words John is calling out are an incantation to Yog-Sothoth (known as Yob Soddoth to Terry Pratchett readers).
> 
> “Yog-Sothoth knows the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the key and guardian of the gate. Past, present, future, all are one in Yog-Sothoth. He knows where the Old Ones broke through of old, and where They shall break through again.”
> 
>  
> 
> The full quote at the beginning of this chapter is as follows.
> 
> “At night, when the objective world has slunk back into its cavern and left dreamers to their own, there come inspirations and capabilities impossible at any less magical and quiet hour. No one knows whether or not he is a writer unless he has tried writing at night.”   
> ― H.P. Lovecraft
> 
>  
> 
> ps. Even though this story is finished as it is, I'll probably add another porn chapter because I can and I want to.


End file.
